by Harley Stone
I studied him, absorbing everything he said. “Why aren’t you married?”
He chuckled. “I don’t need the liability.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “We’re surrounded by volatile men who will always try to get one up on you, but if you don’t love anyone, they can’t use anyone to get to you.”
The memory made me wonder what sort of future my sister would have. Would Romario De Lucca love her and turn her into a liability one of his enemies could capitalize on? Or would she be home mothering his children while he spread his seed all over town like most of the mobsters I knew? They say you never really know how many kids a mobster has until his funeral.
But, since none of my musings would cheer Abriana up, I decided to lie through my teeth. “Father doesn’t have a mistress.”
She gave me a sideways you’re-full-of-shit-and-we-both-know-it look. “You’re right, he doesn’t have a mistress. He has several… a fuckin’ harem. You know the old man doesn’t like to get attached. I don’t know what they see in him, either. Mamma can barely stomach him, and she has to.”
I put a finger to my lips and reminded my sister to keep her voice down. We’d both be in danger if Father or any guards looking for favor overheard us. “Money can be a powerful aphrodisiac,” I whispered.
Abriana rolled her eyes. “Not that powerful. Goddamn pulsating cockstorm sperm lord.”
I loved Abriana, but at nineteen, she’d never had to work a day in her life and had grown up behind the protection of Father’s soldiers. A spoiled brat, but also a good girl—learning creative swear words had been the extent of her teenage rebellion—I had no idea how she’d make it as a mobster’s wife. Nor had I ever heard anyone use the term “cockstorm” before. I had to give her points for her creativity.
“You’re not thinking of taking a… a mister, are you?” I asked, trying to lighten the tone and keep her from running her mouth some more and getting us both in trouble.
“A mister?” She choked out a laugh. “Like a male mistress? As nice as that sounds, I’m not suicidal, Dom. The family doesn’t care about any of this women’s rights shit. Our dear ol’ daddy already pulled me into his office to grill me and make sure I’m still a virgin and won’t shame our family on my wedding night. Like any man would touch me, knowing who Father is. He gave me a full-on lecture about my duties as a wife… and oh, I’m well aware of the consequences if I dishonor him. We both know that even if Romario De Lucca beats the shit out of me, there won’t be a soul on the planet who can help me.”
“Bri—”
“I’m serious, Dom. You know I’m right. He could be a drunk who rapes me every night before visiting his whores, and who will care? Will Father? Will you and Mike swoop in and rescue me?”
“I—”
“No, you won’t. You can’t. Father needs the support of the De Luccas, and he would sacrifice every single one of us to get it. You know it, I know it, Michael knows it. Even Mamma knows it. But none of us can do a damn thing about it, because it’s what’s best for the family.” She spat. “Again, I hate this family.”
“Don’t talk like that, Bri. Especially not here. You know Father will flip out if he hears you.”
“So? What can he do now?” She snorted. “For the first time in my life I’m actually valuable to him. He’s not gonna hit me this close to the dinner. God forbid his allies find out what a monster he is.”
“He’s in a difficult position,” I defended.
“I wonder if you’d be so understanding if he was ruining your life.” She squeezed her knees to her chest.
I didn’t know what more to say to my hurting little sister, so I gave her a hug and said what I could. “I’m sorry, Bri.”
She wriggled out from under my arm and stood. “Yeah, me too.” Then she headed back into the house.
CHAPTER FIVE
Annetta
I GOT THE job!
Even as I exited the bus to head in for my first day of work, I still couldn’t believe it. The shock kept going as I tied on my apron and scrubbed my hands. Afraid Frank would be the one training me, I was pleasantly surprised when Brandon greeted me and led me to my station.
“I’ll be working with you today,” he said. “If you don’t remember where everything is from your crash-course interview, just ask.”
“Are you my boss?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Hardly.”
“Is Frank?”
“No. You, Frank, and I all answer directly to Collin.” Then with a warm, genuine smile and a patient tone, he introduced me to the rest of the staff and spent the next couple hours walking me through the menu and policies and procedures.
Still excited and desperate to wring every drop of knowledge I could from him, I fired off questions and took detailed notes to study later. A couple of the other chefs gave me sideways glances, but I didn’t care if my bubbly enthusiasm and giant notepad revealed my rookie status. It would all be worth it when I jumped right into the flow and blew away the kitchen’s learning curve.
“We have a really important dinner coming up with about a hundred guests, so we’re going to focus on getting you trained to whip out dishes in a high-stress environment. Normally training wouldn’t be this intense, but after the last chef disappeared…” Brandon clamped his mouth shut.
“Disappeared?” I asked.
“I mean bailed,” he amended, fidgeting with his apron. “Didn’t even bother to give notice or call in and tell us he was done. Didn’t even pick up his final check.” His gaze went to a clipboard beside the grill. “Have I shown you this cleaning schedule yet?”
I let the abrupt topic change slide and shook my head, wondering what had really happened to the last chef. But I didn’t have much time to think about it, because the restaurant got busy the moment the doors opened, and the workday raced by in a blur of orders. Both Frank and Collin made a few appearances, no doubt sniffing around to make sure I hadn’t burned anything up or poisoned anyone, but for the most part everyone left us alone to work.
By the time I clocked out, my feet were aching, and I smelled like garlic and fish. I washed off as much of the funk as I could and let myself out the back door, stepping into a cloud of cigarette smoke. Waving my hand to disperse it, I headed for the bus stop.
“Annetta, wait,” someone said.
I turned to find Dominico from the interview walking toward me, lit cigarette in hand. He had to be close to six-and-a-half feet tall, and the top of my head barely reached his shoulders. Clean-shaven with his dark hair combed back, he looked slick in his tailored suit. My gaze lingered on his broad shoulders and big arms for a moment longer than I’d intended. I couldn’t help it. Although he was a pig, the man was hot. The kind of hot that made good girls make very bad decisions. He took one last drag before tossing the butt on the sidewalk and snuffing it out with a shiny black oxford.
The city buzzed around us, but the sidewalk where we stood seemed strangely isolated, making me feel vulnerable and exposed. Something dark and exciting danced in Dominico’s bloodshot eyes, making me question the safety of being alone with him. Still, he had been in on my interview, so I needed to play nice.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Just thought I’d be friendly and walk you to your car,” he replied.
Since it was none of his business that I couldn’t afford a car, I said, “Thanks, but I can manage.” I turned and continued toward the bus stop.
I heard the sound of his footsteps behind me, but kept going.
“But the parking lot’s that way,” he said.
Glancing over my shoulder, I confirmed that he was pointing the opposite direction and kept walking. “Neat.”
“Don’t you wanna go that way?” he asked.
Seeing no way to avoid telling him the truth, I said, “I’m riding the bus.”
He hurried to get in front of me. “Will you just hold up a second?”
I stopped and put my hands on my hi
ps, fully aware my stance would come off as hostile. I felt hostile. My feet hurt, my arms and shoulders felt like they were made of rubber, and I wanted to get home and relax. “Do you need something?”
He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t feeling well, and realize I came off as sort of a dick.”
His blunt self-examination surprised me, but I wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “You were hungover and acting like a chauvinistic pig,” I corrected.
One of his eyebrows shot up. He stared at me for a moment before shaking his head. “You sure don’t pull your punches, do you?”
“Should I?” I asked. “A big boy like you should be able to take them.”
Why did that sound like I was hitting on him? Appalled, I hurried to correct myself. “I mean… That didn’t come out right.”
He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with humor. “You sure?”
Gah, the man was infuriating. I tried to step around him, but he held out an arm, stopping me.
“You’re right though, I did act like a chauvinistic pig… and a dick. Let me make up for it by giving you a ride home.”
His apology seemed sincere, and I could tell he had a decent sense of humor, but I didn’t know him from Adam. I’d heard plenty of stories about girls who got into cars with sexy men they didn’t know and had no desire to become a statistic.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m good.” But since I didn’t want to be rude, I added, “See you tomorrow.”
“What do you mean you’re good? You don’t have a car. You ride the bus. Let me take you home and save you some money.”
“I like riding the bus.” I did, too. It gave me a chance to unwind, and I liked people-watching. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I can afford the fare.”
He sighed, the corner of his mouth turning up in the sexiest smirk I’d ever seen. Butterflies danced in my stomach at the sight, and I struggled to remember why his remarks during the interview had seemed so insulting. Maybe my nerves had made me overly-sensitive.
“Sorry, I’m handling this all wrong,” he said. “I’m in charge of security for the restaurant, and the manager asked me to make sure you got home okay. There’s been some crime in the area lately, and he’s a pretty old-fashioned guy.”
“Collin sent you to offer me a ride?” I asked.
“Collin, yeah, that’s the manager,” Dominico replied.
The few brief times I’d seen him, Collin hadn’t seemed overly concerned with my safety, but with Brandon’s comment about my predecessor disappearing… I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to the story. “Is this about the chef who bailed?” I asked.
Dominico’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you about that?”
Not wanting to sell Brandon out, I shrugged. “I can’t remember. Maybe I heard about it on the news or read about it in the paper. I didn’t realize he worked at this restaurant, though. Did he ever pick up his check?”
The way Dominico watched me made me feel a little uncomfortable. “Do you know him?” he asked.
“No.”
“We haven’t heard from him.” He rolled his shoulders, not looking me in the eye. “We don’t think it’s connected to the restaurant—the guy had a gambling problem and probably split to get out of paying—but just in case, I’d like to take you home.”
“So he did disappear. I thought he just quit.”
Dominico snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. “Look, I’m trying to make sure you get home safe. Are you gonna let me give you a lift or not?”
I glanced down the street in time to see the bus pulling away from the stop, which meant I’d have to wait twenty minutes for the next one. I didn’t know if my aching muscles could handle five.
“We can go in and Collin can vouch for me,” Dominico offered.
I couldn’t decide if it would make me feel more comfortable or like a paranoid idiot. After all, he’d been in on the hiring process and therefore clearly worked for the restaurant. He did seem legitimately concerned for my safety, and there was a fine line between independence and recklessness. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to my predecessor’s disappearance than he was letting on.
“You promise you’re not some sort of psycho killer or rapist or something?” I asked.
His sexy smirk widened into a full-fledged toothy smile as he held up his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Nothing about him said Boy Scout, but I let the pledge slide and accepted the ride home. He led me to a sweet-looking black Porsche convertible and opened the passenger’s side door.
“This is your car?” I asked.
He nodded. “Like it?”
Of course I liked it; it was sleek and shiny with tinted windows and what I’m sure were custom rims. Who wouldn’t like it? “I love it, but I thought you said you worked security. How’d you end up with a car like this?”
He cocked an eyebrow at me and as I replayed the question in my head heat crept into my cheeks.
“Sorry, that was rude and it’s none of my business. I suffer from a broken filter and have yet to learn what I should and shouldn’t say out loud.”
He gestured me into the car and shut the door before hurrying to the driver’s side. The car’s interior was even swankier than the outside. I snuggled into the leather seat and checked out the dashboard full of gauges.
“I like it,” he said when he climbed in.
“The car? Me too. It’s gorgeous. I’ve never ridden in a ragtop before.” I studied the roof, wondering how it worked.
“No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I was talking about. I like that you speak your mind. People don’t usually do that around me. It’s refreshing.”
“Why? You some sort of royalty or something?”
“Not exactly, but my family is well off.” He tapped the steering wheel a couple times, and then turned to face me. “Want me to put the top down?”
The chilly March air made me hesitate only a second. “Will you please?”
“Sure. You got a jacket?”
I nodded and tugged it out of the backpack at my feet. He beamed me another smile before flicking a switch on the dashboard. The top slowly receded, and I put on my coat and buckled my seat belt. Dominico turned the heater on our feet.
“What kind of music are you into?” he asked, fiddling with the radio.
“I’m good with whatever,” I said, waving him off.
He cocked his head and looked at me. “But what do you like?”
For someone just trying to give me a ride, he sure asked a lot of questions. I couldn’t help but be flattered by his interest. I’d always been a private person, though, so it felt weird to talk about myself.
“I promise not to use the information against you,” he prodded.
“Oldies,” I confessed.
“Oldies?” he asked. “What era are we talking here?”
“All of them, but mostly sixties.”
“That’s… unusual. I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl under fifty who likes oldies. Is there a story behind it?”
I shrugged, not yet ready to reveal all my secrets. “Papa says I have an old soul.”
He took his hand off the radio dial to shift into reverse. “Well, you’re gonna have to help me out here, because I have no idea which radio stations play oldies.”
“We don’t have to listen to my music. You’re already giving me a ride and I’m pretty sure that’s above and beyond security guard duties. I’m good with modern stuff too.”
“No way, now you’ve got me interested. I want to hear the kind of music a girl like you listens to.” He backed out of the parking spot and drove toward the exit. “Change the station and tell me where I’m headed.”
A girl like me?
I chewed on that while rattling off directions to my house and messing with the radio. It landed on Gladys Knight and the Pips’ song “Midnight Train to Georgia,” the very song my parents had been listening to when
Mamma realized she loved Papa. I knew, because she must have told me the story a hundred times.
Hearing the song now, with Dominico, caused goosebumps to rise across my flesh. Which, in turn, made me feel stupid. Sure, he was being nice and giving me a ride home, but I barely knew the guy. I chalked the warm feelings up to watching too many romance movies with my sappy best friend.
“I like it,” Dominico said, tapping his hand to the beat against the steering wheel.
I nodded. “It was my mom’s favorite song.”
“She had good taste,” he replied. I appreciated the way he didn’t ask about her and just let the topic drop. “You hungry? Want to stop somewhere and get something to eat before I drop you off?”
Driving me home because his boss asked him to was one thing, but he’d put down the top of his car in cold weather for me, let me choose the music, and now he wanted to feed me? My personal experience with guys was limited, but I’d heard enough stories to find his behavior unusual.
“Why are you being so nice?” I asked.
He eyed me, frowning. “I’m just… It’s just… Are you hungry or not?”
And why did he sound so pissed? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine.” I sniffed my clothes. “And in desperate need of a shower. Please just take me home.”
We rode the rest of the way in silence, and when he pulled up in front of my house, he killed the engine, got out, and joined me on the curb.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Walking you to the door,” he replied, gesturing for me to accompany him.
Confused, I asked, “Why?” It’s not like we were on a date or something.
“Because it’s dark and it’s the right thing to do.”
I pondered his answer as he led me to the door.
“What time do you work tomorrow?” he asked.
“Two. They’re having me close. Why?”
“I’ll be here at one thirty to pick you up.”
I stopped. “You don’t have to do that. I can take the bus.”
“I do have to. My boss asked me to, remember?”
His answer reminded me our ride was just part of his job, which upset me for some strange reason. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but the disappointment stung. “Oh, yeah. Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”